


Not Another Training Exercise

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [19]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Deaged Chris, Frottage, Implied Xenophilia, M/M, Xenophilic Dirty Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of Derek, it’s Chris who takes Kate’s bullet at the end of 3B, sacrificing himself since he has nothing left to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Another Training Exercise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyberrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 19, Gift for Cyberrat!
> 
> Happy December 19th!

Chris watched from the shadows as the shifter entered Hale’s loft apartment, the smoke still rolling thick across the floor from flash bangs. He watched Hale spin around, watched his eyes widen in something far too gut-wrenching to be simple _fear_ and then he looked again. Only one person, living or dead, could inspire that sort of mind-numbing terror in this particular werewolf.

As he looked closer, looked beyond the startlingly blue flush of her spotted, Jaguar face, he saw it. Saw her eyes, saw the triumphant curve of her lips, and he knew. He knew exactly who that was. And, righting a decades-old mistake, he finally made the choice he should have made all those years ago: a Hale wolf over his psychotic family.

Seconds before Kate pulled the trigger on both barrels, Chris leapt forward, throwing his body across Derek’s, feeling the spray of wolfsbane-laced pellets shredding his flesh in a too-tight pattern. Arms going limp, he slipped down Derek Hale’s body, wishing only that a different Hale were here. 

Opening his mouth, he coughed, and tasted the thick, sharp flavor of blood. Choking, he raised a weak hand, eyes locked with Derek’s wide, shocked ones, and whispered, “It’s over.” He closed his eyes, hoping when he opened them again, his beautiful daughter would be there. 

—

Chris sighed, forehead furrowing as he he felt something digging into his spine. With a groan, he rolled over, opening his eyes only to realize it did no good, and let out a muffled curse. Fuck, he’d thought his dad’s impossible training was over. Apparently not.

Sitting up, he brushed his hands against his jeans and then reached out with hesitant hands, shifting onto his knees when he didn’t feel anything directly above his head. He crawled forward, one shuffling inch at a time, hands blindly seeking a solid surface. When he finally _did_ touch something, though, he wished he hadn’t. Tracing his fingers over the surface, he grimaced, recognizing the shape of a skull.

Ugh, he didn’t even want to be a hunter in the first place. Why the _hell_ did he still have to do this shit? Hadn’t he gone to Japan just last month? Hadn’t he lived through the horror of the Oni? Didn’t he have the shattered mask to show for it? Seriously, he needed to get away from his crazy-ass family. 

The sound of something impacting the wall to his right made him startle and scramble to the left until he came up against the opposite wall. Another slamming sound and another, and suddenly light began to stream into the place he was. Flinching back as shards of stone sprayed him with the next hit, he coughed and covered his face with his arm until the pounding stopped and then… Then he heard someone call his name and he slowly lowered his arm.

A man, probably just a few years older than him with a close-cropped beard and black hair knelt beside a man probably a decade or so older. It was the second man who drew his attention, because there was something about him that was oddly familiar. Something around the eyes.

"Christopher?" the man asked, his eyes flaring wide with shock.

Coughing to clear his throat, Chris waved them back and wriggled through the hole in the wall. “Did my dad send you?” Irritation swamped him at that thought. He was more than capable of getting out of… “Where are we?”

"Mexico," the younger man said, his voice soft but gruff. 

Chris squinted at the guy, disbelief filling him. “What the hell are we doing in Mexico?”

—

"So," Chris said, staring blankly into space as he tried to process everything he’d heard in the last few hours. "I’m forty two, _you’re_ Peter Hale,” he pointed to the man he’d thought looked familiar, “and you’re Derek Hale. Even though, according to our intel, Derek Hale is like, six.”

Derek shook his head, pointed to his chest, and said, “I’m _twenty_ six. For whatever reason, what Kate did to you de-aged you twenty years. We’ve got people working on it.”

Chris choked on a laugh and shook his head. “Jesus, dad really went all out on this one, didn’t he? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s _inventive_ , but there’s no way in hell I believe any of this.” 

"Look, kid," Derek leaned forward, jaw clenching and looking irritated, "I appreciate what you did to save me, but this whole denial thing is about seven hours old now and—"

"Derek." ‘Peter Hale’ stepped forward, laying a hand on ‘Derek Hale’s’ arm. "Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones with regard to denial. Speaking of which, I’m sure by now Stiles has some information for us. Why don’t you run along and fetch it? I’ll be happy to watch over our young charge here."

Derek perked up like he’d heard a dinner bell, then grunted and made noises like he didn’t want to leave, but Chris noticed it didn’t even take five minutes before he was rolling the door to this wide-open, minimally furnished apartment closed, leaving him and ‘Peter’ alone together. As soon as the door was closed, Peter strolled forward, his motions all coiled energy and rolling hips. 

Chris licked his lips and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t been two seconds ago. “What’s a Stiles?” he asked, floundering for something, anything, to break the tension that started to coil through the air.

"Stiles is Derek’s own personal river in Egypt." Peter reached down, smoothing one finger over Chris’ jaw. "But enough about them. There’s another boy I want to hear more about." Dropping to a squat, Peter looked up at him, his blue-eyed gaze so avid as it swept over his face that Chris couldn’t look away. "It’s amazing," he murmured, turning Chris’ jaw this way and that. "I remember you at this age, you know. Back then, I didn’t notice how _young_ and _innocent_ you were. But… mmmm, the advantages of age, I suppose.”

Peter’s fingers skated down the side of Chris’ throat and over the blade of his clavicle, making Chris squirm uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, this whole set up is very, uh,” he floundered for a suitable adjective, “ _imaginative_ , and I give you points for effort. I mean, you’ve even dreamed up background players, which is just miles beyond what usually happens at these things.”

"These things?" Peter asked, a small smile quirking his lips as he tilted his head, the tendons in his neck shifting and drawing Chris’ gaze as he did so. 

Flushing, Chris looked away and said, “Yeah, the whole hunter training thing.”

"Hunter… training. Oh, my, that’s adorable."

"I remember you too, you know," Chris blurted, anger mixing with the confusion that still hung around him like a fog. "I mean, the real Peter Hale. You’ve got his mannerisms down, I’ll give you that. He was a smarmy asshole too. But there’s no way the Peter Hale I remember would have driven down to Mexico to rescue me from some magical church. So. Your story kind of falls apart."

"Oh, trust me. I had my reasons for going." Peter rocked down onto his knees, putting him right up in Chris’ personal space. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Peter hummed and smiled before he murmured, "But I think I’d like to hear more about this training of yours." Resting his hands on Chris’ knees, Peter rubbed circles with his thumbs into the sensitive skin on the insides of each. "What exactly does that involve?"

Chris snorted, wriggling backward on his seat. “Like you don’t know.”

"Humor me, pup."

Arching one eyebrow, Chris said, “Fine, I’ll humor you. First of all, it involves total secrecy. So if I told you anything, I’d have to kill you.”

"Oh, little boy, I’d dearly love to see you try." Shifting further forward, Peter breathed, "In fact, why don’t you?"

"Why don’t I what?" Chris asked, wondering vaguely why his throat felt so tight.

"Why don’t you try. To kill me." And then Peter’s smirk grew to a full grin. No, it wasn’t a grin, it was…

It was a baring of teeth, teeth that were too long and pointy to be human. 

Eyes flaring, Chris threw himself backward, tipping his chair over and rolling with the momentum. But not even his months of training could give him the speed of a werewolf. Faster than a blink, Peter was on him, broad body pressing him flat to the floor, large, warm hands bearing his weight into Chris’ wrists, where he was pinning them. 

"Let _me_ train you, little hunter,” Peter whispered, rolling his hips. “Lesson the first: never run. It only excites us.” 

Chris’ breath stuttered to a halt in his chest, adrenaline and confusion and a weird thrum of arousal coalescing inside him at Peter’s words. The man was built for this, for seduction, in ways the Peter Hale Chris remembered hadn’t been. That Peter had been spidery and slimy. This one, though the qualities were much the same, wore them like a jungle cat instead of like a snake. He stalked instead of slithered, and that made all the difference in the world to Chris’ stupidly obnoxious hormones.

"Look at you," Peter breathed, grinding down against Chris. "So young. _Stripped_ of the cynicism you worked so hard to attain.” As he said this, Peter released one of Chris’ wrists and reached down, shredding the front of Chris’ shirt and slicing his claws, one after the other, over where Chris’ dick was straining the material of his jeans, giving him relief at the same time his pulse rocketed with disconcerted fear.

"What are you…" 

"Such wide eyes, such a pretty little boy. I just want to _eat you up._ " Peter dropped his head to Chris’ throat, sinking teeth in until Chris gurgled, the fear twisting in his belly, winding around the arousal until it exploded into a whole new emotion, one Chris didn’t even have a name for. 

Back bowing, Chris sank the fingers of his free hand into the short hair at the back of Peter’s head, pressing against it as his hips stuttered without rhythm. The absolute _wrongness_ of what he was doing overwhelmed him, and he had a fleeting moment of wondering what his father would do to him if he found out, but then Peter moved, biting him again, and all worries trickled out of Chris’ mind. All thoughts fled as well, until he was just a writhing mass of nerves, fighting against Peter’s hold in an effort to chase the pleasure that roared through him.

"Please, please," he cried, wild and high, when Peter slammed his hips down and pinned them there, holding Chris still, denying him the friction he _craved_.

"Tell me, little hunter. Tell me what you want. Be… _explicit_.”

"I want," Chris’ head rolled back and forth, trying to still the raging need inside him so he could _think_. But there was only one thought in his head. “I want you.”

Peter’s laugh was a husky, deep sound just beside Chris’ ear, stirring the hair that hung just over the tip and sending shivers through his body. “You want _me?_ But I’m a werewolf. That can’t be right. Why, I might… I might _shift_ , right in the middle of fucking you.”

Chris’ eyes flared wide, blind to the room around him as those words painted a picture he could see far too clearly. A picture he found far too arousing. A keening cry of _want_ burst from him and a tear of overstimulation flowed from the corner of his eye to trickle down into the hair at his temple.

"Or is that what you want, Christopher? Do you want to be fucked by the monster? Do you want me holding you up, impaling you on my cock, all humanity stripped away? I’m… _huge_ like that. I might rip you apart.”

Chris writhed under Peter, sobbing breaths all he could summon.

"But after… oh little boy. After, you’d smell like me. You’d smell like mine. Even after I cleaned you out with my tongue and there was no trace of me left, you’d still be marked, inside and out. And I’d never let you go." Peter struck again, teeth piercing Chris’ flesh even as he dragged his hard cock along Chris’.

And that was it. It was the last bit of stimulation Chris needed as he arched up, a scream ripped from him as he came in long, body-wracking pulses that left him wrecked and weak, shaking under Peter who was still thick and hard against him. 

"So tender," Peter murmured, dragging his tongue over the marks his teeth had left in Chris’ throat. "But maybe not quite as innocent as all that, hmm?" Pushing up, he hovered over Chris, the pulse in his thick neck beating hard enough that even Chris could see it. Then, Peter smiled, all teeth, threatening and promising all in one expression. As he smiled, his face contorted, shifting to show Chris the animal underneath.

And Chris’ spent cock… twitched.

Peter smiled again, fangs glistening in the light. “I think I won’t enjoy this,” Peter slurred, eyes bright and mesmerizing, “as much as you will.”


End file.
